BARENBOIM'S OUTSTANDING BEETHOVEN:
Daniel Barenboim's patience has paid off. His long-anticipated Beethoven cycle belongs in the pantheon of great recorded versions of this music, a fact that unbiased listeners will readily admit after a few minute's encounter with any one of these nine staggeringly fine performances. However, I fear that recognition of his achievement will be hard won. Barenboim has not made things easy for himself: his work belongs squarely in the great German tradition. It will thus face strenuous opposition on both the "authenticist" and the "historicist" fronts.
The "authenticists" argue that Beethoven's symphonies are the logical continuation of the tradition inaugurated by Haydn and Mozart, and should be played the same way, in accordance with period performance practice. The symphonies are less important as individual works, than as exemplars of a compositional style, and performances are adjudged acceptable or unacceptable simply by virtue of the interpretive approach. Of course, this extreme form of bias ignores the fact that, in reality, performances emanating from the "authentic" school range from thrilling (Mackerras on EMI) to dreadful (Hogwood, Norrington, Goodman, and many others). Get ready to hear comments such as: "Barenboim's traditional, Romantic approach exudes a wholly inappropriate heaviness, and perhaps works best in the Sixth ("Pastoral") Symphony, which has an agreeable warmth." After all, what "Pastoral" doesn't? OK, Karajan's doesn't, but you get the point.
The "authenticists" are, in any case, entitled to their preference, even if the result is a blanket dismissal of Barenboim before actually listening to a single note. The loss is theirs. Much more threatening to a proper understanding of Barenboim's achievement is the cynical prejudice of the "historicists." These people believe that standards of interpretation have steadily declined since some mythical "golden age," generally represented by dreadful sounding mono radio broadcasts, remastered 78s, and pirate "live" recordings given by dead conductors of varying greatness, from (at the top) Toscanini and Furtwängler, to (in the middle) Walter and Mengelberg, to (at the bottom) anyone alive and in front of a microphone in the days before the LP, or suitably obscure and (more often than not justifiably) neglected thereafter. From the "historicists" you'll hear: "Barenboim may offer some insight into the lesser, even-numbered symphonies, but his efforts in the great Third, Fifth, Seventh and Ninth naturally pale in comparison to the great versions of the past."
Barenboim has made matters even more difficult by expressing a life-long admiration for Wilhelm Furtwängler, leading lazy listeners to ceaselessly compare him to h 22522e424w is idol, always to his disadvantage, and notwithstanding the fact that he has already given every evidence (in Bruckner and Wagner, for example) of being just as talented, if not more so. So let's get one thing out of the way immediately: these performances resemble Furtwängler to the extent that they belong to the same musical tradition, one that both conductors share, and that's all. What Furtwängler fanatics tend to forget is the fact that their idol was not a solitary genius, but a genius working within the continuum of a performance tradition that did not originate with him. Nor did it die with him. Indeed, much of it has nothing to do with conducting at all, but rather with central European orchestral training and playing habits.
Just as "authenticists" exaggerate the role of "style" and minimize the role of the conductor, so the "historicists" extol their podium idols, neglecting the contributions of ensembles trained in the performance tradition that the conductor claims to espouse. Many artists, including such well-known names as Klemperer, Böhm, Konwitschny, Kletzki, Tennstedt, Blomstedt, Bernstein, Giulini, and even Harnoncourt play Beethoven within this German tradition, according to which Beethoven's symphonies constitute the summit of symphonic achievement. In their emotional range, richness of invention, bigness of vision, and sheer musical perfection, they demand the ultimate spiritual, philosophical and musical commitment. A great performance of this school displays a dark, weighty orchestral sonority built on a rich cushion of strings; seamless, legato phrasing over large musical paragraphs; rock solid bass lines and timpani; and flexible tempos that can vary considerably within the individual movements, but which never impede the music's overall flow.
Furtwängler had a unique grasp of Beethoven's heroic and spiritual dimensions, but few will maintain that he gave of his best in the first two symphonies, or the Eighth, or even the Fourth. The classical element in Beethoven was alien to him, as was (in consequence) much of the composer's blustering humor and sly wit. Also problematic were all of those interpretive points that can only be achieved through the kind of disciplined ensemble coordination, accentuation, phrasing, and instrumental balance that conductors such as Toscanini, Szell and Reiner pioneered, and which we take for granted today. These are the result of a consistency of execution and sheer podium technique that Furtwängler simply lacked. Barenboim's vision of Beethoven shows none of these weaknesses. In fact, his performances are clearly as fine, or better, than anything Furtwängler ever achieved in this music. Let's start at the beginning and see why.
Barenboim takes all first movement (and most other) repeats, but retains such intelligent textual modifications as the horn "bridge" in the recapitulation of the Fifth Symphony's first movement, and the trumpet reinforcements in the "Eroica's" first movement coda. He also divides his violins left and right, as Classical practice requires, and this adds a whole new level of clarity to the musical argument. Symphonies 1 and 2 are fleet (outer movements of both works), witty (the two finales), and classically poised (exquisite slow movements), with plenty of Beethoven's uniquely abundant energy (check out the hard-stick timpani playing in the first movement and scherzo of Symphony No. 1!). When he reaches the "Eroica," though, the style changes with the music, broadening and deepening, in tune with Beethoven's inspiration. The first movement is trenchantly argued, propulsive, but also weighty. The Funeral March sounds magnificently gaunt, the end of its first trio bringing one of many magical transitions that reveal Barenboim operating at a level of idiomatic musical control that few others have achieved. The swift scherzo provides a virtuoso display of conflicting duple and triple meters, while the horns make some magnificent sounds in the trio. Barenboim's finale offers near miraculous clarity in the fugal passages, and a coda that, by allowing Beethoven's notes their full value, really gets played rather than merely poked.
Barenboim's consistency from work to work is another point in which he surpasses many of his predecessors. The standards he sets in the first three symphonies never flag for a single moment in any of the others. So in the Fourth Symphony, the perfect transition between the first movement's introduction and allegro, and the work's genial yet surprisingly eruptive finale, come as no surprise. The Fifth Symphony's first movement builds in tension (as it must) right through to its last note; the gorgeously ripe cellos cap a noble second movement that flows purposefully from first note to last; the scherzo truly is, as Tovey described it, a "dream of terror;" and the finale explodes with an energy worthy of Carlos Kleiber. Barenboim's Sixth vies with Böhm's in sheer loveliness. The "Scene by the Brook" is quite simply the best I have ever heard: utterly calm, yet teeming with life. Barenboim has found the momentum behind the notes: no matter what tempo he adopts or how it varies, the music always moves forward inexorably. After a genuinely rustic scherzo, he demonstrates just how much interesting music Beethoven wrote into his storm; it's a genuine summer shower, not a Mahlerian vision of the apocalypse, and it introduces a ravishingly songful finale that never drags, and in which the sonority of the muted horns offers a tangy dash of aural spice to the last chords.
The Seventh Symphony belies the myth that the German tradition must necessarily sound slow and heavy. This Seventh has wings, and knows how to fly. The basic tempo for the first movement is quick, the rhythm always pressing forward eagerly, horns blazing. Barenboim's keenly observant strings articulate the second movement's repeated note first theme in such a way as to emphasize the rhythm without ever checking the music's natural momentum. The scherzo trips along with Mendelssohnian lightness, but it's the finale that offers the real revelation. By carefully slurring the string figurations, Barenboim (aided by superbly balanced recorded sound) allows an unusual amount of wind and brass detail to penetrate through the texture, giving the music a much sharper, less monotonous rhythmic profile than usual. Masterful. As is also the Eighth Symphony, where the classical poise so evident in Barenboim's accounts of the first two symphonies returns in the stunningly cultivated string playing (in movements two and four particularly), the amusingly pompous minuet, and the razor-sharp clarity of attack and attention to dynamic contrast.
The Ninth, of course, is Furtwängler territory, and it's fascinating to see Barenboim beating the old boy at his own game at such places as the recapitulation of the first movement, which has all of Furtwängler's drama and impact but so much more ensemble discipline and clarity. Indeed, the quality of the Staatskapelle Berlin's playing throughout this cycle is second to none: no surprise really if one recalls their numerous excellent recordings of Beethoven, Brahms, Schumann, Schubert and Dvorák for the much underrated Otmar Suitner. Their rhythmic precision in the Ninth's scherzo is a wonder to behold, while the slow movement really does achieve Furtwänglerian heights of spiritual repose without paying the usual Furtwänglerian price of lousy wind intonation. A smashing account of the finale, ably seconded by an excellent choir and fine team of soloists (save only for an unpleasantly thick-voiced tenor), completes the picture. The initial, instrumental "joy" variations have tremendous cumulative power and really glow; his march swaggers at an unusually swift tempo with no hint of pomposity; and the final bars bring a heartfelt, effortless culmination, ascending to the heavens with a final burst of jubilant energy.
Barenboim's Beethoven symphony cycle is the most emotionally complete, humane, and perfectly realized series of non-period instrument performances of this music to have appeared in decades. The best cycles of the past few years (Mackerras, Gielen, and Harnoncourt) have all belonged to the "authenticist" school to greater or lesser degree. Barenboim's achievement clearly demonstrates that a wonderful tradition is alive, vital, and still capable of renewal through intelligent understanding expressed in partnership with a like-minded orchestra, and above all, through supreme musicianship on the podium. His encounter with this music's generosity of spirit and deep passion will provoke, stimulate, challenge, and delight.
David Hurwitz
www.classicstoday.com
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Warm-hearted, idiosyncratic Beethoven interpretations that heed the example of Wilhelm Furtwangler while promoting their own ideas:
Whatever else might be said about this set (and I rather suspect that a good deal will be said), no one could accuse Daniel Barenboim of pandering to current fashion. Call it 'reactionary romanticism', 'subjective bias', or whatever, this is the Beethoven of our forefathers - momentous, malleable, candidly expressive and in diametric interpretative opposition to the sleek, weight-conscious and historically informed approach favoured by many of Barenboim's peers. Those with a taste for vintage records will inevitably refer back to Wilhelm Furtwangler, a sure influence on Barenboim (who, as a child, received encouragement from the great conductor) and a towering interpreter of The Nine. But to call these readings merely imitative would be to misrepresent them; for while Barenboim has clearly taken certain Furtwanglerian influences on board (more of those later), he also has ideas of his own.
Some aspects of historic performances cannot be gleaned from old mono recordings. Orchestral layout, for one - and I was delighted to note that Barenboim divides his violin desks to the left and right of the rostrum. This makes for greater clarity and a degree of antiphonal interplay that is as crucial to musical argument as the notes themselves. We know that the period-instrument teams have already set a precedent in this respect, but gut strings tend to project less vividly than steel, so the effect (as recorded) is occasionally compromised.
Most repeats are played (Furtwangler was habitually stingy with first-movement repeats in Beethoven), though not the optional da capo in the Scherzo of the Fifth Symphony. The issue of dynamics is interesting in that Barenboim adds some of his own at, for instance, 1'59 into the first movement of the First Symphony, where he effects a subtle but sudden dip in volume. There are many similar instances of tweaked dynamics, though in general this is not a cycle for those listeners who like to spot musical details they had never noticed before. Barenboim is notable more for his sweeping gesture than for any preoccupation with textual minutiae. As to choices of tempo, it seems clear that, for Barenboim, musical argument, modulation (especially in key transitional passages), line and mood are more suggestive of an appropriate tempo than Beethoven's metronome markings.
So much for interpretative principles. But do Barenboim's methods actually work? The inevitable answer - I say inevitable because subjective performances tend to inspire equally subjective reactions - is that they do ... sometimes. Tradition of sorts establishes itself right from the sonorous first bar of the First Symphony. The recorded sound is nicely rounded; there's a perspicacious relaxing of tempo at 2'33 (bar 77), good middle movements and an excited bustle of second violins and violas in the finale's Allegro. It's a powerfully voiced reading, rich in texture but lacking in wit.
The Second Symphony opens imposingly, more a parallel of the Heiligenstadt Testament than an outsize throwback to Haydn. Note the warmth of the cellos and basses under violin triplets at 2'08 into the Adagio molto introduction, and the gutsy fortissimo staccato strings at 3'32 into the main Allegro. Barenboim favours strong bass lines (8'05) but is also capable of cueing a sudden pianissimo, as at that marvellous moment when the violins curve back into the recapitulation (9'18). The Larghetto parades prominent inner string choirs, and the crisply animated Minuet incorporates a properly accented Trio.
Barenboim shapes the Eroica with imagination and a considerable degree of leeway in tempo. The leisurely (19'10) first movement is exceptional. I would single out in particular how the strings respond to the woodwinds for the second subject (5'18) and the hushed transition into the development section (6'51). There's also an unmarked dip in dynamics at 18'33, designed (I presume) to accentuate the drama that follows. The Marcia funebre generates considerable visceral force, especially at 7'08, where thundering timpani are tailed by a dramatic silence and the return to the opening theme. The Marcia's coda (from 14'36) is especially beautiful, and the horns in the Scherzo's trio are among the best on disc.
But is Barenboim's Eroica a truly great performance? And if
it isn't, but exhibits all the stylistic hallmarks of a great forebear, what
then is missing? To attempt some sort of answer I would suggest playing a
three-minute slice of the Marcia - say, from 2'56 to 5'59 (bars 36 to 102) -
then turning to Furtwangler's December 1944
Time and again Barenboim and his engineers make a play for Beethoven's low horn writing - at 0'58 into the Fourth Symphony's opening Adagio, for example, where clarity in that department is crucial. Barenboim's Fourth is, like Furtwangler's, big on sonority and dynamic contrasts. Both conductors extend the note value of the appoggiatura at 7'47 into the opening movement (first on strings, then on woodwinds). My main reservation here is with the first movement's quiet development section (from 8'39), where both Furtwangler and Barenboim cue a dramatic (but unmarked) reduction in tempo. Furtwangler's reading (I'm thinking of his wartime broadcast, quoted above) is so consistently intense - the contrast between eerie darkness and blinding light so unforgettable - that the gesture actually works. In Barenboim's hands, however, the same idea sounds arch and contrived, serving merely to impede the music's onward flow.
The Fifth opens to an emphatically stated Allegro, the familiar ring of fate made monumental, as of old. At 10'00 into the Andante con moto, timpani sforzandos become crescendos, and the triumphant finale's return (as a repeat) is resplendent. The momentum holds sway for a while, but as we journey further, the energy level seems to flag. By contrast, the Pastoral's opening movement, though relaxed, is rhythmically bracing (listen to those dramatically descending cellos and basses at 8'49) while the well-paced 'Scene by the Brook' incorporates a memorably tender central episode (from 6'44). Barenboim's skill at negotiating transitions is on target when the Storm bridges over to the finale (with its expressive violin decorations - at 4'14), and the reading as a whole can perhaps be viewed as the most successful in the set.
Those ascending staccato string demisemi- quavers that dominate the Seventh Symphony's poco sostenuto opening (taken fairly broadly) display impressive textural fibre, but the ensuing Vivace hammers rather than dances. As with the Second Symphony, Barenboim brings a mellow glow to the inner string parts of the second movement while the echoes and manufactured perspectives that dominate the Scherzo deliver their full measure of humour. The finale starts out as if it would rather not have bothered, but the second set picks up in enthusiasm and the closing moments go with a swing. The Eighth Symphony enjoys nicely characterised middle movements, but the first movement is a mite brusque and the fast finale sounds ill-focused.
So to the Ninth which, like the Third and Fourth, owes much to Furtwangler's example. The opening second-violin figurations side-step an obvious pulse in favour of a Brucknerian tremolando effect (which makes nonsense of their dramatic return at around 7'55). The initial tempo is tortuously slow, but if you stay with it for the next 20 bars or so, you'll hear it gradually pick up. That more or less sets the style for the rest of the movement: in other words quiet means slower, louder means faster. True, there are some striking moments: the rage enacted by brass and timpani at 9'40; the intense dialogue between first and second violins at 12'23 (after the central eruption), and, for the coda, the way brass and woodwinds lament over a shivering backdrop of low strings (at 16'20). The Scherzo and Adagio are effective throughout; the finale's opening bass/cello recitatives are rather weak, and there are some extreme tempos later on; the excellent soloists include two rather baritonal males. I am not especially convinced, whereas I was convinced (relatively speaking) by the Second, Third and Sixth Symphonies.
Having already taken up more than my quota of space, I cannot enter into detailed comparisons with other versions. What I will say is that each of the digital cycles listed above offers a more consistent interpretative picture than this latest release (Wand, Harnoncourt, Gielen and Zinman would be my own first choices and Maag should please those who crave a Furtwanglerian interpretative axis). But Barenboim still has much to communicate: indeed, he honours a noble interpretative tradition that is a vital part of our musical past. He constantly reminds me of various older performances that I still cherish, though he never quite manages to improve on them.
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